


Hope

by avantegarda



Series: It's the New World, Darling-A 19th-20th Century AU [21]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Gen, Historical AU, but none onscreen, including suicide, just FYI, there are mentions of previous character deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 19:06:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21943504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avantegarda/pseuds/avantegarda
Summary: With his entire family gone, not to mention their entire fortune lost forever, Maglor is not expecting Christmas of 1950 to be particularly enjoyable.There is, however, one surprise he hasn't banked on.
Relationships: Maglor | Makalaurë/Maglor's Wife
Series: It's the New World, Darling-A 19th-20th Century AU [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/337978
Comments: 15
Kudos: 30





	Hope

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cherepashka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cherepashka/gifts).



> Hello, my friends! Welcome to a fic that I may or may not have been planning for almost a year. What can I say, I'm a sucker for unrealistically happy endings. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all!

_Christmas Eve, 1950_

_St. Patrick's Cathedral, New York City_

Eighty cents bought eight candles, and while eight candles were not nearly enough to honor all the members of the Gates family who had perished over the last few decades, they were enough for Maglor’s purposes.

There was no point, Maglor reflected, in asking how it had all come to this. He knew all too well. One by one, each member of his immediate family had perished.

His father, killed in New York mere weeks after their family’s arrival in America.

Celegorm, Curufin, and Caranthir, all of whom perished in that disastrous shootout in Baton Rouge.

Their mother, the only one of the family to die of natural causes, who had passed away in 1912.

Amrod and Amras, killed in that heist gone wrong in Connecticut, only two years prior.

And, finally, Maedhros.

It was his eldest brother’s death that tortured Maglor more than anything. Not only because out of all his relatives, he had been closest to Maedhros; because the whole thing had been so very _preventable_. 

With the war finally over, the law on both sides of the pond had decided that it was high time to bring down Melkor Bauglir’s crime syndicate. A simple affair, by this point, considering Melkor was an elderly man with one foot in the grave anyway, but Interpol was taking no chances. The team they’d assembled included a British agent named Eonwe Haraldson and a young man named Earendil van Hador, who was none other than the grandson of Maglor’s cousin Turgon. The operation was successful, Mr. Bauglir was dispatched, and the treasure he’d been hoarding for years—the Gates Artificial Diamonds, the most valuable gemstones in the world—were placed in government custody.

It had been Maedhros’ idea, to steal the GADs back. The government didn’t have any right to Gates family property, he’d argued. Those jewels belonged to Maedhros and Maglor by rights, and if the government wasn’t going to give them back, they’d have to resort to more questionable methods, wouldn’t they?

Maglor had tried to argue with him, but really, there was no stopping Maedhros once he’d gotten an idea into his head. So he’d come along, and helped his brother pull off a heist that was entirely too easy, considering the circumstances (if Maglor hadn’t known better, he’d say Interpol was glad to be rid of the things). And then he and Maedhros had parted ways, for what turned out to be the last time.

According to the letter Maglor had received a week later, Maedhros hadn’t kept his share of the diamonds after all. The guilt, Maedhros explained, had been too much to bear. 

So he’d gotten rid of his GAD. Buried it somewhere, in a place no one would ever find it. And with that done, Maedhros had taken it upon himself to perish.

There hadn’t seemed to be much of a point to holding onto the last GAD after that. Not that Maglor had ever really wanted the damn thing anyway—but now, after it had torn apart his entire family, every single glint of light reflecting off the jewel seemed like a mockery. 

And so he’d thrown it off the Brooklyn Bridge.

Now here he was, mere months later, alone in the city that had somewhat become his home over the last few decades. Not that the music hall he’d once run was still in business; he’d sold it years ago, when it became clear that vigilante justice was a much higher priority now. Maglor was now living in a shabby boarding-house and occasionally playing the piano at nightclubs to make ends meet.

Sometimes, Maglor reflected as he contemplated the candles, he almost envied Maedhros. At least he was, with any luck, in peace.

At least he wasn’t spending Christmas alone.

“I thought I might find you here.”

The voice, female and tinged with a Scottish accent, came out of nowhere, making Maglor nearly jump out of his skin. He turned around in surprise and beheld a petite elderly woman in a dark gray dress, her white hair neatly pinned up at the nape of her neck.

It had been decades since Maglor had last seen this woman. Nearly sixty years, in fact, since he’d left her at the docks in Liverpool and begged her not to follow him into a life of crime. But he recognized her, just the same.

“Annie.” His voice barely made it above a whisper. “Is that you?”

“Hello, Maglor,” said Annie Gates (née Hope), calmly removing her gloves. “It’s been quite a while, hasn’t it.”

“Rather an understatement.” Maglor swallowed, his mouth suddenly very dry. “What...what are you doing here?”

“Had a fancy to see a wee bit of America,” Annie replied with a shrug. “What better place to start than New York?”

“Ah.” Maglor turned, focusing his gaze on the flickering of the candles and trying not to betray any emotion. “Don’t let me keep you, then. I’m sure there are plenty of Broadway shows for you to see”

“Nonsense, I’m not going anywhere. I’ve always wanted to see St. Patrick’s.” She looked at the eight candles glowing behind her husband. “I miss your family too, you know. I’m sure they appreciate the gesture, wherever they are now.”

Maglor’s stomach twisted with something like anger—at himself or Annie, he couldn’t quite tell. “Is this really how you want to spend your holiday to America? Engaging in philosophical discussions about my late relatives?”

“You always were a damned fool, Maglor Gates,” Annie said, rolling her eyes. “Sometimes I really do wonder why I ever married you. This isn’t really a holiday for me, love; it’s a rescue mission.”

“A rescue mission!” Maglor let out a harsh laugh. “After all these years, have you really not realized that I am not worth rescuing? I’m a _criminal,_ Annie. One of the most infamous of the twentieth century, or hadn’t you heard? I am almost certain that the only reason I’m standing here now instead of locked up in Alcatraz is that they’ve decided I’m too old and miserable to do any more harm.”

“I always did have terrible taste in men,” Annie said calmly. “All of Glen Formenos told me so, when I decided to marry a useless piano-playing Englishman. But I’ve spent years kicking myself for not coming along with you to America in the first place. Seems high time I made up for it now.”

Maglor’s lips twitched in a faint smile. “I never would have let you come.”

“I never should have let you stop me! I _specifically_ married you because I assumed you would let me boss you around.”

“I should have let you boss me around more, really. Maybe none of this would have happened.” Maglor let out a long sigh. “Now that you’ve found me, what exactly do you intend to do with me?”

“Well,” Annie said thoughtfully. “As you may recall, I sold Castle Formenos fifty years ago, and I still have quite a bit of money left over from it. I thought we could maybe...buy a house.”

“Buy a house?”

“Just a little one, of course. Somewhere on the coast, somewhere warm. We’ll put it under my name, so no one recognizes you.” Annie crossed her arms and smiled with satisfaction. “As far as plans involving you go, it’s fairly foolproof.”

“Listen, Annie.” Maglor waved a hand vaguely, attempting to organize his thoughts. “You’re an intelligent woman. You know I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve to have you come looking for me, I don’t deserve any second chances at all. There is only one reason I am agreeing to your plan, Annie, and that is because I love you. I always have, from the first moment we met, and I have no intention of stopping. So…” He shrugged helplessly. “I suppose I’m in.”

“I thought you might say that.” Annie stepped closer and touched him, for the first time since she’d entered the church, just resting her hand on his shoulder. “I had a hunch, in fact, that you wouldn’t deny me the only Christmas present I’ve asked for in sixty years. Because I love you too, you mad sassenach. Always have, always will.” She reached up to kiss him on the cheek and slipped an arm around his. “Come along, Mr. Hope. You look like you could use a bit of a Christmas dinner.”

“Just a moment. I feel I ought to say goodbye.” Maglor looked back at the altar, smiling at his family’s candles. A small gesture, perhaps, for the people he’d loved more than nearly anything else...but perhaps, in this case, enough.

“Merry Christmas, everyone,” he whispered. “I love you.”

And with that, the last surviving member of the infamous family of Feanor Gates and his wife left the church, stepping out into the swirling New York City snow.


End file.
